“Where are we?” I stare at a small brick building with a bright, colorful blue and pink sign out front, and even though I asked as if I didn't have a clue where we are, I know this place well. I haven't been here in almost four years, and I never had any intention of returning.

“Don't be upset,” Laz says. “I don't want you to feel pressured as if I'm making you do something you don't want to do, but you discuss it so much, and I know this is something deep down that you really want. Now with Carlos out of the picture for good, it might be time to end your pain when it comes to knowing if you did the right thing for your son. ”

“Laz, I don't. I ...” I stumble over the words, not knowing what it is I really want to say.

He's right. This place has haunted my dreams since the day I handed my son over to his adoptive parents, but I never thought I would see this place again. It hurts too much to even think about going in there. I don't want to open that can of worms even though my heart burns to know more about my son.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I do my best to fight them back and pretend I'm not losing my mind right now even though I am.

Laz reaches over and cradles my face against the palm of his hand. “Hey, it's going to be all right. You can do this. You need to do this—not only for yourself but also for him. Whether you want to face up to it or not, one day he's going to be curious about you. When that day comes, don’t you want him to know that you've kept track of him his whole life and was just waiting for the moment when he was ready to meet you? You don't want to be a stranger to his life. You should know what's going on. It will help make that conversation between the two of you less awkward. And who knows, Drea, one day the two of you can have a beautiful relationship—one that you weren't ready for when you were sixteen, but now that you're older you are.”

I stare at him as my tears continue to fall. “I can't face what I've done. He'll hate me. That day will never come when he wants to meet me.”

“Don't say that,” he says while staring in my eyes. “There's something I've never told you—it's about my birth mother. When I turned sixteen, I went to meet her. I wanted to meet the woman who had brought me into this world.”

“I thought you never met your birth mother?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I never said that. I just said that I never held any resentment toward her because I understood her situation and why she gave me up. The stories I've heard came from my parents, but when I tracked her down, she confirmed everything, and sadly, her life had gotten no better. Still addicted to drugs, she had no room for me in her life, even sixteen years later, but she did take the time to meet me. She felt she owed me an explanation about herself and her situation and who my father was. She met me at a restaurant, and of course, I paid for the meal, but during that time, she opened up and was willing to give me straightforward answers—no bullshit to any question I had.”

My heart breaks for the man I love in front of me to know he's been through so much, yet here he stands—a determined man with an amazing soul—a man who's caring and loving. One who cares enough about me to hold my hand through some of the toughest situations I've ever been through my life. I've never had someone there for me like that before, and I love him for it.

My curiosity is piqued, and I’m filled with questions of my own. “So did you understand her more after you met?”

He nods. “I did. I also was glad she gave me away for adoption. My life was fucking fantastic, and I owed that woman—my biological mother—everything for having the courage and knowledge to leave me with good people and walk away and let me have a normal life. She could've been greedy. She could've kept me for a while for money and used me for a paycheck from the government, but she didn't. She let me go and gave me a shot at life—one where she didn't fuck my life up. The one thing I wish she would've done was contacted me. She admitted to me that she had thought about me and wondered how I had turned out, but she didn’t have the courage to contact with my adoptive parents.” Laz gives me a sad smile. “That's why I want you to do this. Coming from my perspective as the kid who was given away, I wanted her to know about me too. So I’m asking you for your son’s sake to muster up the courage, Drea, and go in there.”

He's right. In a lot of ways and deep down, I feel like this would be a good thing for me because I've always wanted to know. But I'm scared too. “Can you at least come in with me?”

He gives me a slight smile. “Of course. I'm here for you. Always will be. I love you, Drea.” He reaches down and threads his fingers through mine and then brings my hand up to his lips where he kisses my knuckles. “You ready?”

I take a deep breath as he wipes away the tears from my cheeks. “As I'll ever be.”

Laz walks around and opens my door like the true gentleman he always is to me. He helps me out of the car, and I clutch his arms as we walk up the sidewalk.

He pats my hand that's holding on to him. “It's okay,” he whispers as he reaches the door and opens it wide for me. “It's going to be okay.”

Inside, a woman who appears to be in her early thirties with light brown hair and an easy smile sits at the reception desk. She shifts her gaze from the computer screen to our direction. “Can I help you?”

As if I wasn’t already worried enough, actually being back in this office has me shaking like a leaf blowing in the wind. I swallow hard. “My name is Aundrea Newton. I'm not really sure how to go about this …” I stumble over my words. I wish I was confident and could tell this lady what exactly it is that I want, but I can’t be concise when I don’t even know what I’m hoping to get out of this.

She tilts her head a touch, and her expression softens. “Well, let me see if I can help you. Have you been here before?”

I chew on the inside of my bottom lip. “Yes. It's been about four years.” I pause as the name of the representative I worked with at the adoption agency pops into my mind. “Does Sally Wheaton still work here?”

The woman nods. “Would you like me to see if she's available?”

A slight bit of relief hits me, knowing I won’t have to explain my story to someone new. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“Have a seat, and I’ll go let her know you’re here.” She directs us to the row of blue waiting-room chairs before leaving us alone while she heads down the hallway behind her.

I twist my fingers together while my hands rest in my lap. Once a year, Sally calls to notify me about the information I should come in and pick up. She’s always told me I had updates about my son, but I've never returned her calls. I'm sure she thinks I don't care, but that's the furthest thing from the truth. The idea of knowing a lot about my son scares me because I know it’ll only make me want to know more about him … and more is something I don’t deserve to ask for considering I gave him away.

Being here is huge, and I’m praying I’m doing the right thing.

Laz reaches over and threads his fingers through mine but doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. It’s nice to know he’s here for me. I’m grateful he’s by my side.

Moments later, the unmistakable click clack sound of high heels coming down the hallway catches my attention. Sally appears in the doorway, and she looks just as I remembered her with short blond hair and kind brown eyes.

I stand to greet her, pulling Laz up with me, and start to open my mouth to introduce myself, but she cuts me off quickly. “Aundrea? Is that you?”

I give her a slight tightlipped smile and shrug. “It's me.”

It’s nice to know she still remembers me.

Sally’s smile is warm, and inviting, and holds no judgment when she looks at me. “Well, it's been a while, but I've been waiting for you. I knew you'd be back eventually in your own time. Would you like to see that file now?”

I tightened my grip on Laz's hand, and he squeezes right back, showing me nothing but support.

"I'll take you to the conference room, so you have some privacy.” Sally’s eyes flit down to my hand locked with Laz’s. “Does your … friend …?” She trails off, not sure exactly how to address Laz, so I help her out.

“This is my boyfriend, Lazarus.” I flick my gaze up to him, and he grins.

Sally walks over and extends her hand to Laz. “It's very nice to meet you.”

“You, as well,” he replies.

Sally's eyes flicked to me. “Would you like him to come back for support?”

I love that Laz has pushed me to take the step to come here and find out about my son, but I'm not sure how I'm going react when Sally gives me information. I need to handle this on my own.

I shake my head. “No, I think I'm going to go back alone if that's okay?”

“Of course, it is, sweetie. Come with me.” She smiles and then waves me to follow her.

Lazarus leans down and kisses my lips. “I'll be right out here for you. Take your time.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I follow Sally down the short hallway to the same conference room where I signed documents when I was pregnant. It hasn't changed much. There's a new picture on the wall. The old one that was there—a bouquet of roses in a glass vase—is no longer there. I remember staring at it and being filled with grief. The picture was the only thing in the room that I could focus on to keep myself from crying. It's gone now, replaced by a picture of all the ladies who worked in the agency.

“Go ahead and take a seat and make yourself comfortable while I go grab the box.”

“A box?” I ask puzzled by how much stuff Sally has for me.

Sally smiles. “Your son's family has sent enough things over the years to fill a large box, and I've kept it here waiting until you felt the time was right to come see it.”

Wow.

This has me both excited and nervous about the possibility of what’s inside.

“I appreciate that.”

When she leaves the room, I fold my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do with myself while I wait.

She returns, holding a box so large it barely fits through the door.

My eyebrows rise. “Oh, my goodness. Is that for me?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “This is all yours.”

My hands shake as she places the box in front of me. Everything I have ever wanted to know is inside that box. On the one hand, I'm so anxious to open it that I can barely stand it, but on the other hand, I'm so damn nervous that what I will find inside will break my heart even more.

As if she knows what I'm thinking, Sally taps her fingers gingerly on the top of the cardboard box that she set on the table in front of me. “Don't be nervous, Aundrea. What's inside here—it's nothing but good things. Take your time. Everything in this box is meant for you. If you feel the need to stop at any time, it's okay to do that too. You’re welcome to take these things home with you.”

I swallow hard and lick my suddenly dry lips. “Okay.”

Sally takes a step back and collapses her hands together in front of her. “I'll be right across the hallway in my office if you need me.”

I chew my bottom lip as I stare at the box, curiosity killing me and fear paralyzing me. I stare at the box for at least fifteen minutes before I find the courage to hesitantly lift my hand toward the top of it. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then pull open the flap.

Inside, my eyes instantly land on a tiny blue and pink striped hat. My hand instantly flies to cover my open mouth as my eyes instantly burn. It was from the day he was born. I remember staring at it and thinking how tiny he looked when I cradled him in my arms. Every time I think of my son, I picture this hat, and here it sits, waiting for me.

I pick it up and a sob tears out of me as I pick up the hat and examine it. The baby hat still has a slight hint of lavender, and it makes me smile and wonder if that's what he smelled like every day.

Beside where the hat sat is a little blue photo album that says babies first on the cover. The next thing I notice is a stack of letters.

I remember part of the contract I signed; Sally explained that I was entitled to receive at least one yearly update about my son via a letter, but way more than that are in here. This stack contains at least forty letters of varying sizes. All of them are sealed, addressed to the agency, and still have the postmark date stamped on the front. There are also four large manila envelopes inside and three small wrapped packages with a bow on top of each one. The small cardstock tags are all addressed to me.

I'm not even sure where to start. I'm overwhelmed, and honestly, all I expected to see when I walked in this place is maybe a picture or two because that was what was promised to me when I signed my son over. This box contains far more than that.

I'm tempted to open the photo album next, but I restrain myself, knowing once I lay eyes on my baby, I’ll completely break down. I take a slow, deep breath and blow it out before I pull the stack of letters out of the box and set them on the table. I sort through them, arranging them by date and find the one written just three days after my son was born.

With shaky fingers, I manage to open the envelope. Instead of a typed note like I expect, I find a beautifully handwritten letter.

Dear Aundrea,

I can't pretend to know exactly how you are feeling or what you're going through, but let me start by saying you are one of the most selfless people I have ever met. The day I met you, I felt a connection with you—one I couldn't explain or even fathom until this moment. We both love this little boy so much—even before he was born and came into our lives, we loved him. My husband and I have been waiting for him for a long time, and we were blessed that you entrusted us with raising him and making him a part of our lives forever. I know you didn't want to see the nurses give him to us, but the moment I held him in my arms I cried, not only because I was over the moon happy, but I cried for you. I cried at the thought of how much your heart broke to let him go. I wanted to reach out to you and comfort you in any way that I could, but I know I'm not allowed to contact you other than by writing you letters, so that's what I plan on doing. I don't want you to think just because you signed those papers that you still aren't his mother. We want you to be as big of a part of his life as you want to be. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I want you to know that you are always welcome in our home. We want an open relationship. Enclosed with this letter are all the pictures I've taken of him since we brought him home three days ago. There's even a little flash drive with some videos. I know it's a lot, but we're just really excited, and we wanted to share our excitement with you. He is beautiful, Aundrea, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you have done and sacrificed for us. We are open to any type of communication you want to have with us and with our son, Kyle. (That’s his name) Feel free to reach out anytime.

Love,

Brandy Myers

Tears roll down my face, and I stare at the stack of thirty-nine other unread letters and wonder what each one of them contains. This one filled my heart with so much love, and I wish I had read this sooner. It would've made me feel a lot better in some of the darkest times in my life when I always doubted if I had done the right thing. This letter confirms my son, Kyle, is being loved.

“Kyle …” I whisper his name out loud just to see how it feels on my tongue, and I love it.

Now that I know his name, I find the courage to peek back inside the envelope to find the pictures Brandy mentioned in the letter. When I pull the stack of pictures out, my eyes land on Kyle, and he looks just like I remember from the day I gave birth to him.

The picture takes me right back to that day. It was a bittersweet day for me because I was so excited to meet him—meet the baby that had been growing inside me for nine months, but it also meant that my time with him had come to an end. I held him one time in my arms, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and then asked the nurse to take him away. I knew if I held him any longer than that, I would change my mind. And me raising him on my own as a teenage mother wouldn't have been the best thing for him.

Staring at the picture, I can take my time studying Kyle. He's so tiny and perfect, and it makes me smile to know that even though through all the bad shit that happened to me, something beautiful came from it.

I flip to the next picture, and it's a picture of Kyle in what I assume to be his new home. He’s in a light blue onesie with a baseball on it asleep in his crib peacefully. I flipped through the rest of the pictures that came with that letter, and all of them brought a sense of peace to me that I hadn't felt in a long time. Suddenly, it feels like Christmas knowing I have thirty-nine more surprises like this one—thirty-nine more times to get to know the son I have longed to know for the past four years. I want to take my time and savor every word, every moment, and live through Brandy's words, watching my son grow vicariously through her eyes. I am so tempted to open the last letter that was dated only two weeks ago just to see what my son looks like now, but I don't want to rob myself of watching him grow up before my eyes through these letters. Instead of reading anything else, I put the letter back in the envelope along with the pictures, close them back inside the box, and pick it up. I want to savor all the contents inside.

I carry it back down the hall the way I came—back to the lobby where I left Laz. 

When he sees me carrying the box, he pushes himself to his feet. “You need help with that?”

“Please,” I say as I hand the box over to him. “I'll meet you out at the car. I want to talk to Sally one more time before I go.”

He nods. “I'll see you outside.”

I turn to make my way back down the hallway to find Sally sitting at her desk. She looks up from her computer and smiles. “How’d it go?”

“I don't know what to say. I read one letter, and it's changed everything for me. I'm going to take the box home and take my time going through it.”

“I think that's a good decision, Aundrea. Take your time, go through everything, and if you're ready, I know Brandy would be excited to arrange some type of visitation with Kyle.”

“I don't know if I'm ready for that just yet.”

“It's going take some time; I understand that. Like I said, when you're ready, we'll arrange a meeting.”

My heart flutters at the thought of seeing my son again, and as much as I would like to happen right now, I know this process is going to take some time.